


The Empty Grave

by kireteiru



Series: Variations on a Theme [6]
Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Possession, not as dark as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kireteiru/pseuds/kireteiru
Summary: Silence fills the empty grave now that I have gone, but my mind is not at rest, for questions linger on.Or, Talion possesses Daerwen after the destruction of the One Ring.
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Talion (Shadow of Mordor), Eltariel (Shadow of Mordor) & Talion (Shadow of Mordor), Talion (Shadow of Mordor) & Frodo Baggins, Talion (Shadow of Mordor) & Orc(s)
Series: Variations on a Theme [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485791
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	The Empty Grave

He couldn't explain what happened, much less _how_ it happened. One moment he was gasping at the foot of Mount Doom, watching it erupt lava like his slit throat was blood, and then Daerwen was there, screaming and streaking down out of the ash-filled sky, blood red wings pulled in close for a steep descent. She had scooped his broken body up in her jaws, mindful of her sharp teeth, and taken flight again. Then time blurred…

...and he came back to himself slowly, starting to grow from a bare wisp of thought and spirit to a full Wraith - who was apparently possessing a fire drake. His body was gone, had turned to ash in Daerwen’s mouth as she’d flown away from Mount Doom, and his Ring had met the same fate. Talion wasn't sure if anyone had ever actually possessed an animal before - though now that he was actually _in her mind_ , _listening to her think_ , there was _no way_ Daerwen was a mere _animal_ ; she was _far_ too cunning and intelligent - but here he was, anchored in her body the way Celebrimbor had once been anchored in his own.

The drake called him _ada_ , _father_ , the way Idril had before his fall. He didn't go looking for her or Baranor or the others. It didn't seem like it had been that many years since he lost his fight with the darkness - Daerwen wasn't that much older than he remembered her being - but there was no telling what had happened in the interim. He didn’t want to hope, and then be crushed by disappointment.

Not again.

But in the end, it wasn't up to him.

* * *

“Oh gods - it’s _her_.”

Daerwen opened her eyes and glared at the Orcs that had entered Morgoth’s Scar, the cave where she was resting. She had heard them coming and hoped that they would pass them by, but apparently rescuing her _ada_ from certain death had used up all the luck she had.

 _“_ Ada _.”_

His spirit stirred deep in her chest, close to where her fire kept them both warm. He was much better than he had been when she found him again, but he still had a long way to go before he was restored to even just what she remembered from her earliest days, teetering on the verge of falling. He spent a lot of time sleeping, and this was no different. _Daerwen?_ he murmured.

 _“Intruders,”_ she said, and he peered through her eyes.

There were five of them, a standard hunting party, all of them with Talion’s blue-hand mark painted on their faces or armor or both. But she could tell that he didn’t recognize a single one of them - not that she really expected him to. The years when he had known every single person that served under him were _long_ before her time - before her mother’s time, too.

“The blood drake, the black harness… the empty saddle,” the Orc continued, shying back, clutching his spear close to his chest like a talisman, “ _The Dreadful Woman_.”

The apparent leader of the pack swallowed, and Daerwen’s eyes turned to him. “We did not mean to disturb you, Great Lady,” he said, lowering his eyes and bowing slightly to her, “We will leave you to your rest.”

The rest of the party all bowed as well and hurriedly backed out of the cave, and Talion directed a raised eyebrow her way. _Exactly_ what _have you been doing to them?_

She let a lip curl up to expose a long pointed tooth. _“Nothing, unless they served Sauron before now. My name has always been well-earned.”_

He hummed, and she felt ghostly hands scratch her throat, earning a quiet purr. _My little helion. But we need to be careful; they're sure to tell others they saw us here. There might be those who want to capture or kill us for various reasons - or worse, worship us._

_“Should we leave?”_

_...Let’s wait for sundown. Then the fish will be out, and we can go hunting too._

She hummed in acknowledgement and moved further back into the cave, then resettled, curling up again and closing her eyes.

* * *

Night on the Sea of Núrn was always a thing of beauty, the moonlight shimmering on the waves and turning the shore to silver. Daerwen could feel Talion marveling in the back of her mind at how clear her vision was, even at night and from such a height over the water, but she was more interested in the fish below to fill the void in her belly.

When she reached the right position, the right angle, the right target, she pulled her wings in and dove. Talion swallowed a cry of mingled shock and excitement, not wanting to distract her, which she appreciated, even as she swung around to enter the water talons-first.

She felt the fish struggling where it was clasped in her claws and hurriedly spread her wings again, carrying them back up to the surface, then into the air. She sped for the shore before it could slip from her grasp, then dropped it on the rocks near the fishery that her fellows often used to roast their own catches. There was no one there now, in either place, which let her roast and her fish without needing to keep an eye on other drakes, wary of theft.

 _That didn’t actually taste too bad; I didn't expect that,_ Talion mumbled. He was starting to drift off to sleep again, still recovering.

 _“Sleep,_ Ada _. I will keep watch; don't worry.”_

He hummed, and her awareness of him dimmed as his spirit curled back up in her chest. That let her turn her mind to other problems.

 _Ada_ needed to choose. She had saved him from being dragged into the Outer Dark with Sauron and Morgoth and the other Ringwraiths when the Ring was destroyed, but now he needed to decide what he wanted to do with their joined life. There were many, many options, though she had thought of only a few. The first was, were they going to stay in Mordor? The Great Eye was destroyed, and now they were free of the need to remain here - unless, of course, he found a reason. Which he might; there was no way to know for sure yet. He might not be willing to leave his Orcs behind - or the Men, if they remained. There was no way yet to know if _they_ intended to stay, either. Same as _Ada_ , Daerwen had seen the King’s banner at the Black Gate, though they probably hadn't seen her; she’d been quite high above the battle to avoid being attacked, and then drawing the attention of the Great Eagles when they arrived. But the Gondorians might want to return home to serve their king, now that he too had returned, and the others, wherever they were from, whoever they followed, might want to organize themselves in their own way.

But the _Orcs_ … Well. They would have to see.

Of course, there was always the option that _Ada_ might not want to stay. That he might want to pass on, to die and leave the world behind. Daerwen did _not_ like thinking about that - she hadn't wanted Talion to even _fall_ , let alone _die_ \- but it was a possibility she couldn’t discount. If that was his choice, she would be beyond sad, and probably seek to follow him as soon as possible, but she hoped - she _prayed_ , to any gods that listened to creatures like her - that he would _not_ go that route.

She crunched the last bones of her fish, briefly focusing on the soft chill of her father’s spirit in her chest. She knew he wasn't _actually_ her father - all the drakes knew that - but for most of them, they had felt his touch while still in the shell, the slow glide of the Ring changing them, increasing their strengths and lessening their weaknesses. In many cases - and especially in hers - he had been the first face they had seen when they came _out_ of the shell, when they finally hatched.

He’d shaped them, helped birth them, raised them, trained them, given them to riders he trusted… he was their father in all the ways that mattered. He loved them as his own blood, and they loved him in turn. So Daerwen knew that as much as she wanted to keep him all to herself, she would need to inform the others. They would want to know his spirit was not lost with the Eye, even if he only remained with them for a little while longer.

She turned and dipped her head off the rock ridge to drink deep from the water of the Sea. When her thirst abated, she spread her wings and took off again, ascending quickly and angling toward the fortress of Núrn. If her kin were anywhere, it was likely to be there, and the messenger drakes at least could spread the word to the others.

It likely hadn’t been intentional - given his surprise at the clarity and sharpness of her thoughts, she would bet a year’s hunts on it - but after he altered them to be able to reproduce on their own, Talion had bred a lot of dragon blood back into the fire-drake lines. For most of them, there was only just enough Fell Beast in them to keep them small - which, in truth, was something they wanted; though they lived _long_ after the Sinking of Beleriand, Maglor had told stories of Ancalagon the Black and his enormous size. All Daerwen had thought when she heard was that at _her_ size, she couldn’t maneuver as well as some of her more agile kin, so _he_ must have been even _worse_ ; it must have taken him leagues and _leagues_ to execute something as simple as a turn.

But more importantly, so much dragon blood made them fiercely intelligent; they couldn't speak any languages of the two-legged races of Middle-earth - their mouths and throats didn't have the right parts for it - but they could certainly communicate in their own way, with their own language. As she drew near to the fortress, she sang out a warning of her approach, and received a response from one of her own nestmates, her sister Celondis. _“There is no one,”_ she called, _“It is safe to land.”_

Daerwen swooped down to alight on the promontory on the eastern side of the fortress, where the drakes usually resided. Celondis was there, with a few others - Farion, Galador, Brêgon, and Seregil. _“Sister,”_ said Farion, _“What news?”_

 _“I found_ Ada _in his final moments, at the bottom of the fire-mountain in Gorgoroth,”_ she answered, _“I do not know what happened, but I carry him inside me now, as he once held the Betrayer.”_

The others all perked up. Even if no one else did, the drakes all knew what had happened on the bridge during the disastrous Siege of Barad-dûr; Talion had never guarded his speech around them the way he had the other two-legs, and they _remembered_ , passed the story down amongst themselves even if they personally never heard it from his lips.

Seregil leaned in and sniffed her. _“...Yes indeed,”_ she said finally _, “There is something of his spirit-scent around you, too great to be just transference. Is he well?”_

 _“He sleeps,”_ Daerwen replied, _“His fall into darkness gravely wounded his spirit, and the destruction of the Dark Tower didn’t exactly help. But he is healing, though slower than I would like.”_

 _“You are worried, though, about more than that,”_ said Galador.

 _“He must decide what he wants to do with this life restored, such as it is,”_ she answered, _“and I am worried he won’t want it.”_

The others shifted restlessly, and Seregil’s tail thrashed in agitation. _“Then what should we do?”_

 _“Get the word out,”_ she said, _“Tell the others - everyone we can find. I will travel around, bring him to see them, remind him that there are those here who do not want him to go - not yet.”_

* * *

But there was another task that awaited her first. If there was a King in _Ada_ ’s homeland again, there would also be a crowning ceremony. No word had reached them from their allies among the Rangers, so most likely it hadn’t happened yet.

That meant there might be time for her to take _Ada_ to see it.

She flew from the fortress in Núrn to Minas Morgul in one day, and rested at the very top of the tower there, where no hands could reach her save those who approached on wings. Then she took flight again in late afternoon, and crossed the Anduin.

Minas Tirith was a hive of activity, people scrambling over the walls and buildings, shifting rubble, sweeping streets, hauling materials for reconstruction. It had been from an even greater distance than this, but she had seen at least a little of the city’s decline under the Steward (whose name she had never learned nor cared to). It was good to see that the restoration of the King was improving things, rather than making them worse.

She prodded Talion awake to let him view the city, and she felt his sleepy joy flood her body. _It is good to see the White City getting back on her feet,_ he said, _She’s been wandering in the dark for far too long._

She let him drift off again, and descended into a copse of trees to wait until full dark. Then she took flight again and carefully made her way to the city.

It was cloudy that night, thank the gods, hiding her approach, but still she was careful to glide down into the buildings, only beating her wings twice to come down for a landing. There was no one in the garden courtyard, which was why she’d picked it. Another reason was the tavern on the level right below it, where people were celebrating quite loudly.

She and her kindred had never understood the two-legs’ propensity for alcohol. It smelled disgusting, tasted even worse, and burned going down in a way their resistance to fire couldn't alleviate. But now it proved useful indeed; the tongues of Men were loosened by drink, and as she listened, they told her that the crowning ceremony - the _coronation_ \- would be fourteen days later, on the first day of the fifth of their “months”.

Fourteen days. She could handle that. Probably. But it would also give her time to rest up again for a long flight; depending on how long the ceremony actually took, she could be circling in the upper altitudes for _hours_.

There was the barest scuff of bare feet on stone behind her, and she whipped around, a silent snarl curling her lips up off her fangs. If it was only one person, it wouldn't do to alert the entire city to her presence by a roar or a growl.

It was a child - or something like one - with dark curly hair and bright eyes, wearing simple linen sleeping attire. He had emerged from one of the fine buildings facing the courtyard, though he didn't actually look as if he belonged in this city of Men.

Talion was awake again a moment later. _Shire... Baggins,_ he whispered, _Ringbearer._

The one who destroyed the Dark Tower. Daerwen didn't understand how one so small could cause so much devastation - Gorgoroth was in ruins, and would be for _decades_ \- but she believed that Talion knew what he was saying. She lowered her lips, smothered her snarl, but waited warily for his response.

He relaxed a little, then hesitantly entered the garden, though he was careful to give her a wide berth. He sat down on one of the stone benches ringing the central fountain, and sighed heavily, leaning up against one of the pillars of the bower over the bench and closing his eyes.

Daerwen stretched her neck in his direction and sniffed. He still carried the faint scent of Mordor ash, but grief and pain and weariness were stronger, almost overpowering. Blood, too; he was wounded somewhere.

 _His hand,_ Talion murmured, _He’s lost a finger. There was a struggle…_ His memories of his time as a Ringwraith were dim, as if seen through a thick veil, but he remembered that the Ring had cried out in the heart of Mount Doom, demanded his obedience, but that sensation had dimmed a minute later. Through his own Ring he’d felt wills clashing even as he sped for the mountain… and then the sudden separation when the One Ring had been destroyed, cast back into the fire from whence it came. _But more than his body, his spirit is wounded, too._

The Ringbearer opened his eyes again, and looked her in the eye, before his gaze drifted down to her chest, where Talion’s spirit resided. Daerwen hissed, and lowered herself to shield that part of her body.

At once, the Ringbearer held up his hands in an unmistakable gesture of surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you, or… whoever that is,” he whispered, “I’m just curious, is all. They look - familiar.”

_He was stabbed by a Morgul blade at one point, but I wasn't there for it. We chased the Elf-woman trying to get him to safety… He was pretty far gone at that point. Maybe he saw into the Wraith World. Maybe he still does, since he seems to know I’m here._

Daerwen huffed softly. _“Who can say one way or another? But I doubt it matters now.”_

The Ringbearer stared at her, and she snorted and growled, _“What are you looking at, shorty?”_

“You - you can speak?!” he whispered sharply.

She blinked at him. _“You can understand me?!”_

There was a moment of silence before the Ringbearer buried his face in his hands. “I’m going crazy, that’s all,” he mumbled, “Now that the Ring’s gone, I’ve finally snapped.”

 _“ Hardly,”_ she grumbled, _“I am Daerwen, drake-daughter and wing-partner of Talion the Wind-Rider. Who are you?”_

“Frodo Baggins of the Shire,” he answered, almost by rote. ( _Shire,_ Talion murmured again, _Baggins._ ) Then he hesitated. “‘Dreadful Woman’?”

She bared her teeth in a vicious grin. _“I earned something of a reputation fighting Sauron’s forces.”_

Of all things, that made Frodo blink in surprise again. “You… didn’t serve Sauron?”

Daerwen snorted in response. _“Certainly not. After _Ada _bred me, the Dark Lord had me captured, and gave me to the Witch-king to be his wing-partner, but I would not bow to him. They had me tortured… I don't know how long it was, but in time_ Ada _came and set me free again. I refused to bear aloft any of Sauron’s servants, and actively hunted them where I could.”_

“...huh.” Frodo had a thoughtful look on his face. “I never thought that those who are… _considered_ servants of the dark like you, would resist Sauron.”

_“There are many more of us than you believe. Drakes and caragors and Orcs and Ologs… Not so much with the graugs, but we have a few of those too.”_

_“Orcs?!”_ The Ringbearer barely managed to keep his voice down. “There are _orcs_ who resisted Sauron?!”

_“Oh yes, a great many. Not compared to Sauron’s total army, though; not enough to turn the tide, but a fair few.”_

“No one ever saw…”

Daerwen snorted again. _“Of course not,”_ she said, lying down on the paving stones, _“To the rest of the world, an Orc is an Orc is a servant of darkness, and the same for the rest of us. We have stayed in Mordor both out of loyalty and also because there is nowhere else for us to go.”_

“Loyalty?”

 _“To_ Ada _\- Talion the Wind-Rider.”_

“Who is he? I can’t say I’ve heard his name before.”

 _No one,_ Talion whispered inside her, _I was no one until I died and came back. And then when I fell, I became less even than that._

 _“He was once a Ranger of Gondor, part of the garrison of the Black Gate before it was destroyed by Sauron,”_ Daerwen answered, _“He fought Sauron for many long years in Mordor, set many of us free from the Dark Lord’s control and held much of Mordor against him. For that and more, he was…_ cursed _. Five years ago he fell into darkness and joined the Nine.”_

_Only five years? Not so long as I thought._

Frodo’s gaze fell to her chest again. “Is that who…?”

_“Yes.”_

“Why is he-?” But before he even finished the thought, he seemed to understand. He winced and lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

 _Don’t be. Tell him that he shouldn't be,_ said Talion, _He’s a hero. I might not have a body of my own anymore, but Sauron has been_ utterly _defeated and all of Middle-earth freed from his shadow. That matters more than anything else._

Daerwen passed the message along, and Frodo gave them a weak smile. “Thank you,” he said, “but I’d hardly call myself a hero. Not like you two.”

Talion snorted, and Daerwen mentally whacked him upside the head with her tail. _“You carried the One Ring to its end,”_ she said, _“That is enough -_ more _than enough.”_

The Ringbearer looked ready to protest, but then his head nearly split in two on an enormous yawn.

 _“Go back inside, get some rest, Frodo Baggins of the Shire. Even for we who were born and bred there, Mordor under Sauron was not an easy thing to survive.”_ Daerwen waited until he was gone, then spread her wings and jumped from the ledge to glide away into the night.

* * *

Frodo was back in the garden again the next night, but the clouds had cleared earlier that afternoon, which meant that Talion and Daerwen had to be much more careful coming down to see him.

But they managed.

_“Back again, shorty?”_

“I could say the same to you,” he replied, looking up as Daerwen glided down out of the night, “I didn’t think to ask last night, but what brings you to Minas Tirith?”

 _“Listening for news, mostly,”_ the drake answered, _“_ Ada _is a Gondorian, and is pleased with the restoration of the King. I wanted to hear more about the beginning of his reign, what kinds of decisions he’s been making, and also to know when the coronation was so we could watch from afar.”_

“You can’t - well, I suppose you _can’t_ actually attend, can you? People would panic.”

_“And the soldiers would try to kill us, no doubt. Nor would they be pleased about the presence of a Wraith who used to be one of the Nine, who so terrorized the city during the siege.”_

“Better just to avoid all that trouble completely; I quite agree.” Frodo stretched and sighed. “I almost wish you could take my place in attendance. Aragorn is a dear friend, but though it has been a month since the destruction of the Ring, I find I am still weary. Also, I have been away from home for far longer than I wished.”

_The Shire? I have vague memories of passing through it, seeking the One… Through a glass, darkly… It looked like a nice enough place - certainly nicer than Mordor._

Daerwen relayed Talion’s words, and Frodo nodded. “I’ve lived in the Shire all my life,” he said, “and so have my friends, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. The Shire’s been the home of hobbits, our people, for more than a thousand years. And yes, it is beautiful.”

_Tell us about it?_

So he did, describing the rolling green hills and bountiful fields and orchards; cool, clear streams overflowing with fish; warm, well-lit homes with thick rugs and soft beds; good, hearty food with rich flavor; happy, friendly people. As he spoke, his eyes grew glassy with homesickness, but there was a warm smile on his lips. Finally, he sighed and said, “For the longest time while I carried the Ring, especially when we were traveling through Mordor, I couldn't remember any of it. I knew the words to say to describe everything, but I couldn't see it in my mind’s eye - I didn't know anything of comfort, only the Great Eye ever watchful.”

 _Yes indeed. I felt that also during my long years there; the air in Mordor was always heavy with the weight of his will. I imagine that everyone - or_ nearly _everyone - is glad to see the back of him._

“You as well?”

_Oh yes. Both of us are. I am joyful beyond words to be free of his control again, and Daerwen is glad to have me back, even in this state. Perhaps, at some later date, we can come visit you in the Shire in secret. It would be nice to get away for a little while._

“Perhaps you should follow us home, then, before you get dragged away by whatever awaits you in Mordor. What _do_ you intend to do now that you're free, anyway?”

_Rest for at least a little while. Much like you, I am weary of this struggle, but I am unwilling to let go completely and abandon everything wholesale in favor of the eternal peace of death. Hopefully Daerwen and I will be able to do something about Mordor before Gondor thinks it necessary to sweep in and wipe out absolutely everyone and everything there. We have friends even among the Orcs, and I am loath to see them killed for no reason._

Talion yawned spiritually the same moment that Frodo did physically, and Daerwen rolled her eyes. _“Both of you get some sleep,”_ she rumbled, getting to her feet, _“We can talk more later.”_

“Good night, Daerwen, Talion,” Frodo said with another yawn, “Safe flight.”

* * *

_There’s_ no way _you're fifty-one!_

“And there’s no way _you're_ a hundred and twenty, either!”

_“Both of you had Rings of Power that slowed your aging, now keep your voices down before someone calls the guards!”_

* * *

The day of the coronation finally came, and Frodo watched with a smile as Aragorn knelt in front of Gandalf. The wizard put the Crown of Gondor on the former Ranger’s head and said, “Now come the days of the king! May they be blessed.”

The crowd assembled before the palace erupted in cheers, and while Frodo applauded with all his might as well, he also looked skyward, searching…

There was a red shape high above the city, flying just below the cloud line. The hobbit smiled, pleased, then returned his attention to the coronation proper, adding his voice to those celebrating Aragorn’s ascension - and his and Arwen’s embrace.

* * *

“What is it like? Flying, I mean.”

_“Windy.”_

_Seconded, but it’s also freedom, of a sort. You are still bound to the earth - if Daerwen was to pull her wings in, we would go plummeting back to the ground just like everything else - but everything seems so small and distant when you're up in the sky. The whole world falls away, and there is finally room to just_ be _. Especially on moonless nights, above the clouds. It’s just you, the drake, and the stars._

Frodo closed his eyes and tried to imagine it - something like a breezy day from the summit of Minas Tirith, looking out over everything as the land rolled away in the distance - but he got the feeling his imagination paled in comparison to reality. “I wish I _could_ fly, even just for a few moments,” he whispered, “It would be so nice to just get away for a little while, to just forget everything that’s happened, even if only for a few moments.”

Talion exchanged a look with Daerwen. _Are the spare harnesses still in your saddlebags, sweetheart? Are you willing to oblige him?_

 _“I’m more concerned about whether or not they'll actually_ fit _.”_

Frodo blinked at that, and also the sight of Daerwen trying to angle her head correctly, aiming for the quick release on her harness so she could actually get at the saddlebags without breaking her neck. “Do you need a…?”

 _“Yes, rear left saddlebag - my left.”_ She laid down, and he carefully climbed up onto her back, seeking finger- and toe-holds on her scales and the harness itself.

When he’d found a stable seat, Frodo unbuckled the straps holding the bag shut, then pulled it open. Inside was what looked like a bundle of leather straps and metal rings. “What’s this?”

 _“A personal harness. If you really do want to go flying, put it on and adjust the length of the straps so it’s tight but not hurtfully so. It will attach you to_ my _harness so you don't go falling off. There should be a robe in there, too, or at least a shawl-like wrap of some kind; I can’t remember.”_

Frodo unrolled the leather bundle and, with Daerwen’s help, learned how it went on. It hung incredibly loose on his small frame, but Talion had the idea for him to bundle himself up in the wrap (which was more of a blanket on him) before putting the harness on to keep himself warm and give himself some added bulk to make the harness fit better. “You know, usually it’s Merry and Pippin - _especially_ Pippin - who get into these kinds of things, not me,” said the hobbit as he carefully climbed onto Daerwen’s back and settled into the Man-sized saddle, hooking his harness to her own, “Sam and I are supposed to be the sensible ones.”

Sensible _would have been Isildur actually destroying the One Ring three thousand years ago; I think we’re_ juuuust _a little bit past that._

Frodo muffled a few snickers in the blanket, then held on tight when Daerwen got up and moved to the edge of the terrace.

 _Tell him to mind his breathing,_ Talion said, and the drake passed on the warning before spreading her wings and gently tipping them over the edge. She angled them out away from the city, and took them on a wide, slow loop over the Pelennor Fields, which had been mostly cleared of bodies and debris from the war. The spring planting was almost done as well, and Daerwen could feel Frodo leaning this way and that to see what the moonlight revealed below, as well as the glimmering, snaking line of the Anduin beyond.

Finally, the drake brought them back around to Minas Tirith and landed in the same courtyard garden they had left from. Frodo unhooked himself and stumbled off Daerwen’s back, but he was smiling widely. “That was _wonderful_ ,” he said, barely remembering to keep his voice down, “I don't see how you can bear to land if that’s what it’s like all the time.”

_“Food, sleep, wings get tired…”_

“I suppose that makes sense.”

* * *

The other drakes started coming around to Minas Morgul, bringing news from all over Mordor. Idril, Maglor, and the others were holding it together quite well, but eventually Talion knew he would have to return, to declare his survival to all of Mordor and take control of the land to stop it from spiralling into chaos - well, _more_ chaos. Still, he wanted to wait a little longer, see the Ringbearer and his companions safely home as recompense for all the trouble he’d caused prior, _before_ getting dragged back into the internal, external, and eternal nightmare that was leadership in Mordor after Sauron.

Daerwen was gliding high above near the cloud line when Frodo and his companions finally set out from Minas Tirith, heading home. Yet there was someone else familiar in their party.

 _Eltariel,_ Talion hummed, _I had wondered if she survived. I suppose now I have my answer._

_“So far as they are aware, her task is done, so she’s returned to her Lady. Perhaps we could have used her, but at least we don’t need to deal with her being a stick in the mud when we return to Mordor. She was always such a downer.”_

_Mm._

Talion and Daerwen spent much of their time scouting ahead of the hobbits’ party. There wasn’t a lot to see in Rohan; much of the land was empty and mostly untouched by the war, although in the Westfold it was clear to see where Saruman’s forces had swept through and put the land to the torch.

Saruman was leaving Isengard when they arrived and perched on the summit of Orthanc, several days ahead of the party. Daerwen narrowed her eyes and pressed herself flat against the top of the tower, peering down in the fading light at the withered Maia hobbling from the ring of Isengard under the watchful eyes of a dozen Ents. _I don’t like this,_ Talion murmured, _Something’s_ wrong _; I can feel it._

 _“Agreed.”_ Daerwen lifted her head to sniff the air. It was unclear, indistinct, but there was something on the wind that made her remember Mordor and its machines, fires ever burning and wheels ever turning. _“Something still goes ill in Middle-earth.”_

_Take us to the Shire. If there is a threat coming for them as well, we need to know - we need to warn them._

The drake spread her wings and tipped over the edge of the summit, swooping over the ring of Isengard and angling north and west toward where Frodo had said the Shire lay among green hills.

* * *

A sharp roar made Frodo look up and away from Saruman and Gríma Wormtongue, whom the Fellowship had encountered on the road near Isengard. In truth, though the former still had an off-putting amount of pride, the latter had inspired even more pity in the Ringbearer than Gollum, though he doubted anything would come of it.

Now this.

But it was only Daerwen, speeding towards them on pounding wings, even as one of the elf-warriors with Galadriel cried the drake’s name and commanded the archers not to shoot. The drake landed heavily on the road ahead of them all, tail thrashing and teeth bared, sending all the horses and ponies shying away. It took a firm hand indeed to keep them from bolting.

“Daerwen!” Frodo cried, “What is it?! What’s wrong?!”

The air over the saddle on her back shimmered, and a pale blue Wraith appeared there, a Man, hooded and cloaked and armored in sharp plate with a sword and dagger belted over his back. It was the same Man he had seen in his mind’s eye when he had accidentally looked _into_ Daerwen that night on the terrace.

“ _Talion?!_ ” the Elf cried.

 _Eltariel,_ the Wraith acknowledged, his voice clearly audible though his lips didn't move. But then he turned to Frodo. _Your Shire has been invaded,_ he said, sudden silence falling, _or_ taken over _, I suppose would be more accurate. Someone named ‘Lotho Sackville-Baggins’ has been buying up land and putting people in irons, ripping up fields, cutting down trees, delving mining pits into the earth. To be honest, the Shire now looks a whole lot like Isengard did before the Ents swept through._

There were horrified gasps from all the hobbits, and the Elves and Men alike straightened at the Wraith’s words, eyes wide.

 _That’s not all,_ Talion went on, _Lotho has people under his command helping him, evil Men at least two hundred strong come in from the surrounding lands while the Rangers were forced to relax their guard during the War - together with a band of Uruk-hai bearing the mark of the White Hand._

Everyone whirled on Saruman, and saw satisfaction playing on his face. “Come now,” he said, “did you think I did not know where you halflings came from? Did you think I did not see how this all would end? There is darkness everywhere, even in _your_ lands - it was just a matter of finding it.”

Búbhosh bagronk _!_ Talion snarled at him in Black Speech, even as Daerwen turned to face the former Istar and crouched low, spiked tail thrashing, _Not satisfied with storming Rohan, you had to wreck the rest of Middle-earth in the bargain even though it had done nothing to you,_ pushdug _?!_

“Every land will fall into Shadow when the Black Foe returns,” Saruman returned, “It’s only a matter of time! Sauron’s power may be broken, but _his_ Lord still remains! Against that Enemy, there truly is no victory! That Doom has already been foretold!”

 _“And so has yours,”_ Daerwen growled, and pounced, slamming the withered Maia to the ground before closing her jaws around his head and ripping it off. She spat his head out instead of devouring him, then withdrew when his body dissolved into nothing, his spirit leaving it and ascending into the air… only to be blown away by a cold wind from the west.

“We need to get back to the Shire, quickly,” Frodo said to the other hobbits, “Saruman is dead, but that doesn't mean it’s over. We need to rally everyone we can, stop this before it gets any worse.”

 _“I can carry the four of you, if you wish to fly,”_ Daerwen said, briefly licking her lips to clean them of blood before snaking her head around to peer at them, _“You will not weigh much more than_ Ada _in full armor, and it will be swifter than traveling overland. By the time everyone else comes behind, it will all be resolved.”_

“Will that be safe?” Gandalf asked, Shadowfax walking warily forward and stretching his neck to its fullest extent to sniff the drake.

 _“Safe enough. There are spare harnesses in my saddlebags, though they'll need some padding to make them fit better.”_ Daerwen sniffed Shadowfax back - before her head snapped up to look at the wizard. _“You understand me too?!”_

“It would seem that our Rings convey more benefits than we knew,” said Galadriel, “for I understand you also. Eltariel, Frodo, will you introduce us before we all depart to fight this one last battle of the War?”

 _My Ring didn’t do that, fucking piece of shit,_ Talion muttered as the two obliged her, explaining in brief how they’d met.

 _“Yours was one of the Nine,_ Ada _,”_ said the drake, _“It stands to reason that those under Sauron’s control would be lesser than the Elven Three.”_

_It’s still shit._

Merry and Pippin had matured greatly over the course of their journey, but they were still giddy as hobbit-children at the chance to actually _fly_ like birds on the back of a fire drake. Sam, however, was chalk-white and shaking, but still determined to do the same. The Men and Elves helped the hobbits bundle up, then strap on the harnesses, making sure they were secure. Then Talion’s Wraith form vanished, and the hobbits climbed up onto Daerwen’s saddle and attached their harnesses to hers, giving the hooks and their lines a few tugs to make sure they would hold fast.

 _“Hang on,”_ Daerwen warned them, and Frodo relayed it to the others before she spread her wings and bore them aloft.

* * *

In the end there wasn't actually that much fighting that happened in the Shire. The sight of some of their own, attired like princes and returning home on the back of a small dragon that they’d seemingly tamed, was enough to give heart to the hobbits again, and struck fear into the Men. It was mostly the Uruk-hai who actually fought and killed, but they were taken down by hordes of hobbits up in arms. All the Men and Uruks who were taken alive were arrested and turned over to the King’s forces when they arrived (though some escaped and fled into the wilds, never to return), and those hobbits they killed were given respectable funerals - even Lotho Sackville-Baggins, who had been taken hostage by his own men and accidentally stabbed to death in their escape.

It was then that the Fellowship gathered in the field where the Party Tree had once stood and heard the whole tale of what had transpired in Mordor - all of it, despite Talion’s extreme reluctance.

 _I am not trying to_ shield _Celebrimbor from the consequences of his actions,_ the Wraith snapped when Eltariel accused him of as much, _But you repented of what happened on the bridge, didn’t you? When you returned, you_ apologized to me _, Eltariel. You said that though it_ was _done, it never should have happened. You agreed with me, that Sauron should have been thrown down, not dominated. Was that a lie?_

“No!”

 _There has been no sign of his spirit since the fall of the Dark Tower - the drakes have been searching,_ Talion continued, Wraith form shimmering in the firelight as he paced near Daerwen, _and while I can’t speak for anyone else, I have no way of knowing if he would repent as well. I don’t even know if he actually was in his right mind when he betrayed me, what with all the absolute_ garbage _that happened to him over the years - wandering the long dark of Mordor as a Wraith, the New Ring, together with everything the House of Fëanor is tangled up in, especially the Doom of Mandos. I’m still angry with him and probably always will be, never doubt that - I’m so_ fucking furious _that I feel I could have torn the Dark Tower down stone by stone with nothing but my hands and my anger - but I would know his mind before passing final judgement._

He sank down and leaned up against Daerwen’s side. _We were friends once,_ he said quietly, _or something like it. I would know the truth of_ why _before I cast him aside as he has done me._

Aragorn nodded. “Fair enough,” he said, “It is wise indeed to hear all sides of an argument before passing judgement. I hope you _do_ find him, if only to give you some sense of closure. But what will you do now?”

 _There are still many loyal to us in Mordor,_ Talion answered, scratching his fingers over Daerwen’s scales to make her purr, _We mean to take that land in hand - if indeed we can, which I think so - and let it heal from Sauron’s corruption. As hard as it may be to believe, just as there are those Men who have chosen to enter the Dark, there are those among the Orcs who would choose to step into the Light, if only they had the chance._

“What? Will you not come West with us?”

 _Not yet. There are still too many things we need to deal with here - in the very_ least _, we need to make a solid treaty between Mordor and its allies and the various nations of the West, to minimize the risk of future wars,_ Talion answered Eltariel.

“‘Not yet’? Talion, it’s still a while off yet, but this may be your only chance to pass along the Straight Road into Aman!”

_I wouldn't be so sure. You see, the Orcs have introduced me to this concept called ‘breaking and entering’-_

Daerwen started growl-coughing in a manner that was unmistakably laughter, even as Eltariel buried her face in her hands. “ _Talion_ ,” the Elf gritted out, “That’s not the way it works. You can't just _break into Aman_ , and you'll never make it across the Sundering Seas on your own-.”

_Bold of you to assume the Valar could stop me from entering Valinor to fistfight Celebrimbor if he decides to stay a dick._

“The Ban-”

_We’re not a Man, we’re a Wraith possessing a fire-drake; the Ban of the Valar doesn't apply to us. Just keep watch for us; we’ll be along eventually._

* * *

And they were.


End file.
